by Young
Domina Blue
1968
ARGOS
It was close to midnight when Jabril led us down a narrow cobblestone street through an obscure wooden door near ‘De Oude Kerk’ (The Old Church). A regular passer-by wouldn’t have paid attention to this non-descript building. The windows were shielded by heavy black curtains. Upon closer inspection, the signage ARGOS appeared above the doorway. The letters were painted the same colour as the door.
A few husky men clad in leather followed us into the dimly lit interior. The stale smell of acid hit my nostrils the moment I stepped through the threshold. I wanted to sneeze, and I wasn’t the only person affected by this odour. Zac, Andy and Albert covered their noses with their hands, while I had my handkerchief over my nose. Before any of us could sneeze, Jabril led us to an open courtyard out of the busy bar. Our queasiness dissipated when we hit the open courtyard.
Wooden benches together with an array of mismatched chairs and low tables welcomed us. No sooner had our group gathered our equilibrium than did the Levantine puff at the joint he’d rolled. A youngish waiter in tight leather shorts and army boots took our beverage orders.
Several scantily dressed men lurked in shadowy corners, as if in anticipation. All I saw were their husky silhouettes as they puffed on cigarettes dangling from their mouths. They spoke in low voices. The lighting made it impossible for me to see what they were up to.
Andy leaned towards our group and whispered, “What kind of a place is this?”
Our Arab guide leaned across and answered quietly, “It’s a Leather Bar. The first of its kind in the city.”
“What happens in a Leather Bar as compared to a regular bar?” Albert asked inquisitively.
“I went to one in Berlin when I was an E.R.O.S. recruit. My then Master’s cousin was into the BDSM scene. There are bars like these in London and New York,” Dubois susurrated.
Jabril remarked before Alain could continue. “Before ARGOS moved to this location, it was at Hotel Tiemersma’s kitchen. Sako Jan Tiemersma and Anton Johan Kennedy, the owners, operated the hotel solely for sailors and their homosexual friends visiting the city.
“It’s said that their Californian visitors introduced the leather, BDSM and biker trends to our already liberal and mixed sadomasochistic sub-culture.”
Albert questioned again, “What’s BDSM?”
Andy gave a suppressed laugh, said, “Young, do you remember your Kosk Household teacher, Ramiz, who’s into bondage, domination and sadomasochism?”
“So, that’s what BDSM means… Bondage, Domination and Sadomasochism,” Albert iterated.
I directed my question to Andy, “I’m pretty sure Ramiz would love this establishment. Maybe we should introduce him to our guide, don’t you think?”
“This idea of S&M machismo is beyond my comprehension,” Zac murmured to himself.
Jabril continued, “If I remember correctly, Sako and Anton had their first ‘dark’ room in their hotel’s cellar – since the guest rooms don’t have bathrooms, the lodgers had to venture below stairs to the dark, humid and smelly urinals for a leak. Before long, the cellar became a meeting place for gay men.” He paused. “Who’s this Ramiz? I’d like to meet him. Maybe I can show him the seedy side of my illustrious city,” he smirked.
Andy expressed sarcastically, “I’m sure Ramiz would love it here. He’s definitely into this type of ‘foul’ play. By the way, how long has this place been open?”
“It’s been in operation for three and half years.” Jabril remarked. “ARGOS was a tavern before moving here. Under new management.”
Dubois expressed vehemently, “There’s more to this city than sex shows, fetish bars and pot smoking cafes. This metropolis rivals the beautiful Venetian canals and the culture of Paris, not to mention its well-heeled international cuisine and fascinating history.”
Andy leered, “Yet, the decadence begs to be explored by its visitors.”
Zac declared, “This city also has its bastion of freewheeling liberalism, where personal freedom is paramount and good times never end.”
“Before we get too philosophical, let’s do some exploration of our own. Shall we?” our Arab philanderer vociferated as he ushered us back into the building.
The ‘Bathroom’
Zac, like Andy, would not let me out of his sight as our entourage split into groups of twos, except for Jabril, who cruised alone.
My Valet and I stumbled into a dimly lit chamber with blackened walls. A sunken drain ran across the middle of the concrete floor. The pervasive odor of urine lingered in this airless room. The only urinals noted were cartoonish graffiti painted on the walls.
“You’re in the ‘bathroom,’” a voice muttered next to us. The voice pointed to a square tub shoved haphazardly in a corner.
He explained in a thick Dutch accent, “Men sit in there.” He directed our gaze to a low mezzanine balcony overlooking the tub, “You see up there?”
I craned my neck to peer at the small grate set into the ceiling above the tub. “Uh-huh...” my chaperone and I uttered in unison.
“What happens up there?” I twittered.
The bloke chuckled at my innocence. “The men up there,” he said, pointing to the empty balcony, “they piss on the ‘pigs’ in the tub. ‘Water-sports’ time is about to start.”
“Oh, wow!” I stammer. Although I was shocked by his proclamation, I was also intrigued by the slang he used. Even though I had no idea what ‘pigs’ or ‘water-sports’ meant at the time, I guessed as much.
As I stood contemplating to what it would be like to be a ‘pig’ and be pissed upon, a naked man had gotten into the pee-stained tub. Out of nowhere, a couple of guys had miraculously appeared on the balcony. They wore nothing but leather chaps, revealing their exposed groins and nether regions. They whipped out their respective penises to piss on the man below.
My eyes were glued to this surreal scene. As ‘pig’ got drenched from head to toe, to my astonishment, he opened his mouth to receive the yellow fluid down his throat, gulping mouthfuls of urine as if consuming beer from a flowing fountain.
The urinating men were replaced by others as they emptied their bladders onto the guzzling male. He quaffed and swallowed every drop before massaging the remaining liquid over his body. He savored the yellow aqua as if it were from a divinity.
By now, the man next to us had whipped out his cock, jerking himself furiously. Tantalized by the scene before him, he mumbled repeatedly, “Dirty dicks! Shit, I love dirty dicks…”
A mystery man manifested behind Mr. Masturbation. The brawny intruder twitched and pinched Masturbation’s erect nipples, urging him towards the path of no return. He ground his masculinity against the ‘submissive’s’ buttocks.
Wearing no trousers except chaps, his manly groin and derriere revealed a layer of hairy masculinity, common among ‘dominants.’ His protrusion gyrated ferociously against the man’s anal opening. He shoved the man towards the tub. Spitting a wad of saliva onto his bulbousness, the intruder jammed it fiercely into the man’s opening. Cupping the ‘submissive’s’ mouth to halt his cry, he rode him mercilessly.
I felt nauseated by the scathing smell of poppers, the stifling heat, and the sleazy perspiration mixed with pools of rancid urine. I had to get away from the confines of this oppressive ‘bathroom.’
Zac sensed my unease. He steered me urgently towards the open courtyard. The night air gushed into my lungs. I fell to the ground.
Where Am I?
I was a stranger in a strange land, struggling for air within the confines of a post-apocalyptic environment. The darkness, the dank putrid smells lingered.
Suddenly, brilliant rays of bright light swirled around my person. I was no longer in the ‘fuck’ bar. An expansive floral meadow lay before me. Blossoming blooms accompanied by soothing music floated across the distant land. The melodies resembled Vaughan Williams’ ‘Folk Songs from Somerset’ – or were they melodies from Beethoven’s ‘Recollections
of Country Life’? I couldn’t tell. Bliss befell me.
Vice had transformed into virtue. And I was lost in this field of dreams. Twirling, whirling and pirouetting, I pranced like a ballerina on pointe. Had I had morphed into a lark? Were my outstretched arms wings? I soared through the cloudless sky. My bird’s eye view imbued an indescribable sense of fearlessness that was both munificent and carefree.
As if by magic, a resplendent forest materialized. This enchanted forest bore a strong resemblance to the place where Nikee, Andy and I had our first ménage à trois.
I’d descended into this winsome pre-Raphaelite terrain. It captivated my soul, as if I’d entered a mystical realm – a garden-scape as Eleanor Fortescue Brickdale had depicted in her painting The Lovers’ World.
Had I transmogrified into an angel? I wondered, perhaps aloud, as colossal wings sprouted on my back. “Am I a bird, a bird-boy, a Pterodactylus, or…? What am I…?” Before I had a chance to ponder, a gaggle of white peacocks encircled my being. Their sonorous cackling noises mixed with the loud swooshing sounds of their splendiferous fan-like tails precipitated around me. I covered my ears in anguish. These fantastical creatures were zooming towards me like vultures ready to devour a kill.
I fell unconscious onto a bed of white florals. I’d lost track of time and space.
The sweet scent of a pasture of sweet peas, Lilies of the Valley, and snowdrops stirred me back to consciousness, if only temporarily. I lay drowsily on a bed of extraordinarily large Madonna Lilies. They enveloped me under their microscopic inspection.
A ravishing stallion made its way towards me. I strained for a better look. “Am I dreaming? Is it an unblemished Unicorn?” I shut my eyes in bewilderment. Before I knew it, the unicorn had lowered its snout onto my cheeks. He gave me a nudge, instructing me to saddle his snowy back.
I mounted the mystical beast as he cantered me to safety. Protected in the bosom of his sinewy frame, I had no idea where he was taking me. I held tightly onto his flowing mane as he careened into the open pasture. Refreshing air filled my lungs once again. I could breathe easily, yet I needed water, lots of water to quench my thirst. This noble creature read my mind. He raced me to a gushing brook and lowered me to drink from the percolating aqua.
My eyes jolted open, as if by magic. Both Andy and Zac were sitting next to me, one on either side of my hospital bed. They held my hands, looking perturbed. My bedside tables were covered with bouquets of flowers, similar to those I had witnessed not so long ago in the otherworldly realm.
“Where am I?” I whispered weakly. My voice was barely audible, even to me.
“Shush. Close your eyes and rest…” my guardians replied simultaneously. I fell into a peaceful slumber.
2012
My Response to Andy
Dearest Andy,
It would be splendid to revisit the canal city and reminisce of our time at the Falcon’s Den – especially that fateful evening when I ended up at Dr. Fahrib’s private hospital. I have no idea why I blacked out. I recalled the vivid dream I experienced while comatose. You and Zac were in such a panic, worried if I’d ever wake. LOL!
The final thing I remember in ARGOS before I collapsed was the unpleasant smell within the ‘bathroom’. Quick-witted Zac ushered me to the open courtyard for air. We weren’t quick enough; I fainted just as we reached the doorway. I was out like a light. I remember you guys trying to revive me. I didn’t come around. You carried me back to the Falcon’s Den hurriedly.
Thank Allah, the good doctor was home. He was already asleep, but you woke him for help. I faintly recall inhaling some kind of smelling salt. It didn’t help. Fahrib had to rush me to his private clinic for urgent care. I remained unconscious until the first ray of light the following day.
When I finally came around, I was hooked to an IV. The doctor couldn’t diagnose the problem until he took a sample of my urine and discovered LSD in my system.
The ARGOS pineapple juice had tasted strange. I suspect the barman had added several drops of the hallucinogenic drug to my drink. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did this to his customers randomly. But why didn’t the rest of our group fall ill? Have you any idea…?
Chapter Twenty-Six
A Show Of Hands
“He who has known himself has …already achieved knowledge about the depth of all.”
The Book of Thomas The Contender
(Gnostic Gospel)
1968
What transpired?
When I finally handed Dr. Andrew Henderson’s package to Zac, I was a day late. Aziz and Count Mario, our Sacred Sex in Sacred Places photographers were already in Amsterdam. They had contacted Dr. Fahrib, informing him that Andy and I were to be on loan to them in the next segment of their controversial photo shoot.
The brown package I handed to Zac contained official employment documents required by the sheik for our new Spanish tutor, Victor Angel Triqueros. Within the package was also a letter addressed to my Household ‘Master,’ which requested our temporary release.
Needless to say, I was reprimanded by both my BBs and Professor Dubois for my negligence in supplying them with this important document sooner. Monsieur Alain was not a happy camper. He was upset with the art historian for having put Albert and me in mortal danger the night before. He, my guardians, and Jabril had a lengthy discussion with our household patriarch over the issue while I was unconscious and Albert was suffering from severe stomach illness. At the time, I had no idea that Andy’s charge had also been affected by the hallucinogenic drug. No one had mentioned to me that Albert was in the adjacent hospital room until our release. Andy, Zac and Dubois had taken turns watching over us in the event our condition worsened.
Mario and Aziz generously had a local florist deliver an abundance of flowers to my chamber, and so, though comatose, I was lying on a bed of sweetly scented flora.
Conversation at the Salon
Even though I’d recuperated rather quickly my head felt heavy while I was having tea the following afternoon at the Falcon’s Den salon. Albert was in bed, resting. We sat and enjoyed our beverages and snacks quietly before my teacher spoke, “Young, I’m glad you are feeling better. We were in an apprehensive state yesterday…”
Before he could continue, Andy vociferated, “I’m glad you are back with us in one piece.”
Jabril sniggered, “How many pieces do you expect him to be in? I told you, there is nothing to worry about.” He mumbled, under his breath, a quote from the gnostic Apostle Thomas: “When you make the two into one, and when you make the inner as the outer, and the upper as the lower, and when you make male and female into a single one, so that the male shall not be male, and the female shall not be female. . . then you will enter [the kingdom].”
Dubois, overhearing him, countered indignantly, “Jabril, don’t justify your actions as being righteous. I am well aware of the duality between the Yin and Yang being a part of the whole. But it isn’t ethical to put this young man in harm’s way just so he can experience the profane and the profound.”
The gnostic uttered another of his now infamous sayings from the apocryphal Acts of Peter: “Unless you make on the right hand as what is on the left and what is on the left hand as what is on the right and what is above as what is below and what is behind as what is before, you will not have knowledge of the kingdom.” He was obviously provoking my professor.
The Frenchman, flabbergasted by the Levantine’s insensitivity, challenged, “Alright, let’s have a debate about your gnostic beliefs, since you, Mr. Popinjay, are forever reciting sayings from the gnostic gospels.”
We looked at Monsieur, stupefied. Andy remarked, “Now, good people, what transpired last evening is a thing of the past. Young and Albert have recovered. There is no need to dwell…”
Before my chaperone could finish, Dr. Fahrib entered. The room went silent.
Our host announced exuberantly, “Let’s go to the country tomorrow morning. The fresh air will work wonders for the boys. They deserve
a break from stuffy Amsterdam. I, too, can do with a break from my duty. We can spend a day in ‘tulip’ country. How about that?”
My BBs and I welcomed the idea. Not only were we charmed by this unexpected suggestion, we were glad the sheik had arrived to dissipate the contentiousness before the Zentologist and the Gnostic could get themselves into a brawl.
Before we left the salon for dinner, my Valet and I overheard the art historian snickering at Alain. “We’ll have a Gnostic debate tomorrow. Bring the boys to my chamber; I’ll be waiting with bated breath,” he whispered to my teacher.
De Silveren Spiegel (The Silver Mirror)
Restaurant De Silveren Spiegel, The Silver Mirror, was housed within a seventeenth-century building. This elegant eatery dates back to 1614, the Golden Age in Dutch genealogy. It was kept in its original state for sophisticated diners to experience ambiance befitting Rembrandt and Vermeer.
Traditional Dutch elegance and hospitality greeted our entourage as our golden Jaguar and vintage Silver Arrow pulled up to the restaurant’s front entrance. The elegantly dressed maitre d’hotel welcomed us with open arms. He led us upstairs to a private dining chamber, where he proceeded to give us an overview of the restaurant’s history.
“Our distinguished establishment was a popular haunt for German soldiers during the war. Unbeknownst to them, the owners had hidden several Jews, helping them with their eventual escape.” He paused for effect. “As you may have noticed, there are not many glass windows in the building. During the seventeenth century, an architectural law was passed: the more glass windows, the higher the tariff for the owners. So, houses were built with deep interiors instead of having windows.